Lesson learned, maybe
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya find themselves up to their necks in trouble. Originally posted for the 'What's my Line" Challenge on Live Journal. The prompt was: "And they're off!" pre-saga


The blue sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. Seagulls where flying high above, soaring and drifting on the hot air currents. It was a beautiful day at the beach...

"_**And... they're off!**_ Rounding out the far turn is Crusty boy, followed by Sandy Cheeks and Illya's nose..they're neck and neck heading for the finish line. It's Sandy Cheeks and Illya's nose, Sandy Cheeks and Illya's nose…..aaaaaand Illya's nose wins it by a claw!"

"Napoleon, you have gone stark raving mad," Kuryakin groused as a hermit crab inched closer to the Russian. He began blowing with his mouth in a futile attempt to chase it away. Before he knew it, he was looking cross-eyed at the creature as it sat, pulsating and twitching...most likely looking back at Kuryakin's sunburned face.

"Aw quit your complaining tovarisch...at least you don't have an itchy nose," Solo growled.

"I may not have a nose much longer if this crab has its way when the tide comes in, I am sure he and his friends will have a field day nibbling on us."

The two agents were buried in the sand up to their necks along a deserted stretch of beach and were nervously watching the gently lapping water making its way towards them as the high tide was arriving.

"You had to touch, did you not?" Illya said.

"Hey don't point a finger at me...well figuratively that is. The girl came on to me...she practically attacked me."

"Oh please Napoleon why are you still trying to kid me? If you truly believe that, you are deluding yourself." The Russian finally breathed a sigh of relief as the hermit crab seemed to lose interest in him and scuttled away towards the waters edge.

"Oh all right, maybe I did flirt with her a little, but I swear I never laid a hand on her. The kissing was her idea." Solo blew out of the side of his mouth trying to make a stray piece of hair move away from his eye.

"Which you did not resist. I suppose it does not matter as we are going to die in this place, "Illya being ever the fatalist spouted his usual complaint.

Napoleon clicked his tongue, "There you go being Mister positive again."

"You are the optimist not me my friend."

"I was being facetious…"

"Oh yes that is right, this is the perfect time for levity is it not?"

A seagull landed next to Napoleon, tilting it's head as it considered if pecking was worth the attempt. It backed off, seeing its would-be meal was still moving and its fluttering sent a dusting of sand into the American's sputtering face.

"You gents never quit your palavering do you?" A familiar British voice called from behind them.

"Mark? Am I glad to hear you!" Napoleon called out. "Do us a favor and dig us up out of this predicament?"

"_Please_…" Slate grinned.

"Mark!"

"Please?" Illya groaned.

"Pretty please with sugar on top?" Mark amended his request.

"So help me if you don't get us out of here Slate…" Solo barked this time.

"All right, all right...don't get your knickers in a twist!"

He knelt beside them with a small neon-pink plastic beach pail and proceeded to slowly dig them out of the sand.

Once the pair were extricated, they sat down, brushing themselves off with Solo giving Mark Slate the stink eye.

"Next time you bother me little sister Napoleon Solo, I won't feel this generous or forgiving."

"Mark, I didn't lay a hand on her...Scouts honor, and I didn't know she was your sister."

"And why may I ask was I buried in the sand as well," Illya inquired as he shooed away a squawking seagull that was hovering too close. "I did nothing wrong."

"You didn't stop him mate. You are after all, your brothers keeper as the saying goes." Mark gave Illya a hand up from the sand. Leaving Napoleon to hike himself to his feet with a grunt.

"I did not know she was your sister either, and in regards to stopping Napoleon….well, have you ever tried, or even thought of stopping a runaway freight train?" Illya asked, cocking an eyebrow. He began scratching his arms and other extremities with vigorous enthusiasm.

"Point taken mate," Mark shrugged, realizing what was done...was done. He couldn't change that now.

"Mark I apologize for the misunderstanding," Solo offered his hand to the Brit. "Pax?" He twitched, starting to itch a bit himself.

"All right, guv...but just don't let it happen again will you?"

"I will endeavor to do so.

"And I will endeavor to see that he endeavors to keep that promise," Illya added.

"I don't need you to remind me, chum. I'm a man of my word."

"Which only seems to last for five minutes, just about the length of your attention span."

"Take that back you smart aleck Russian."

"Why? It is the truth," Illya quipped. It was obvious Kuryakin, being sunburnt and itching, was in a very grumpy mood. He did not like being made guilty by association. "What the devil is making me itch so much?"

"If you children don't break it up, I swear…. I'll dart you both again and bury you back in the sand. Tide's coming in fast now as are the crabs,." Slate grinned, feigning to reach for his Special.

"Not to mention the sand fleas," Napoleon started scratching more as well while squinting in the bright sunlight."It's the gift that keeps on giving." He knew they'd be feeling the effects of the bites for days, so a trip to Medical for a topical anti-itch cream would most likely be in order. "Say, you wouldn't have really left us here would you Mark?"

"Do you _really_ want to find out Napoleon?"

There were no clever retorts from either the American or his Russian partner as they marched towards the boardwalk on Brighton Beach, still scratching away. Mark Slate brought up the rear, snickering contentedly as the local sunbathers were beginning to arrive for their innocent day of fun in the sun.

Some of them stared at the two men; one handsome brunette the other a cute long-haired blond... both dressed only in what was obviously their boxer shorts.

Mark Slate was getting his jollies at the moment, but deep down inside, he knew there'd be retribution. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, when he least expected it.

Well, as a spy, it _was _another motivation to keep him on his toes...


End file.
